


Variations II

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Episode Related, Gap Filler, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-13
Updated: 2004-05-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A companion piece toVariations.  This one is Brian's POV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Fuck me. Ben can be an asshole. Ha ha, knew he had it in him. Fuck, Michael looks like someone just ran over his puppy. Guess he’s as shocked by Ben’s reaction to the party as all the other dumbstruck idiots in here. Whatever, maybe he doesn’t like parties. 

Ouch, little fucker. Justin just elbowed me hard. What the fuck is his problem anyway, keeps looking at me like I didn’t get him the best fucking birthday gift of all time. God, that was hot. My dick is tightening inside of my jeans just thinking back to Justin fucking the shit out of that guy a few hours ago. Mmm, I curl my lips and look at Justin, we have no reason to not be at home fucking now. Then he looks at me with this wide-eyed, accusatory stare. I follow his glance to Mikey, in the corner by himself, head hung low, looking like he might cry. Everyone is clearing out of this party and fast. I understand that Justin thinks I need to console Michael but fuck he’s an adult. Another nudge and a harsh glare from Justin and I find myself walking toward Mikey. How the fuck did that kid gain so much control over me?

I place my hand gently on his shoulder, "Mikey, fuck him." Michael looks up at me with wet eyes trying to force back the unshed tears, trying to make them go back where they came from. He hates to look weak in front of me. I rub my hand gently over his shoulder as he searches my eyes for explanation. I, of course, have none. All I can do is stand here and be his friend. God knows he’s been mine more times than I can count or even remember. 

Justin is suddenly beside us, he gives me a look that tells me he’s leaving. I can see him joining Melanie and Lindsey at the door and I know that he’ll get home safely, and undoubtedly be waiting at the loft when I find my way back.

"Come on Mikey, let’s get the fuck out of here." I nod toward the door and then walk away from him to retrieve my jacket. I stop at the liquor table, thinking it wise to take back the $40 bottle of Merlot Justin and I brought as our contribution to the party. I don’t drink the shit, a shot of Jim will do me any day, but Justin likes wine with dinner. I notice on the corner of the table there is a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and fuck me, it’s a pretty decent one. I look around at the now nearly vacant apartment and think, what the hell. I snag the bottle and then head for the door. I have a feeling I’ll be needing this more than Ben.

I lead Michael into the hallway where he does an about-face and pouts at me, "Where are we even going?" It comes out so whiny I want to slap him. "Well, you certainly aren’t staying here princess. I thought I’d take you home." My eyebrows raise as I wait for him to comply and continue walking down the hall with me. "I don’t want to go home…" he searches my eyes for approval, but he finds none, "I just want to get drunk." I roll my eyes and let out a little sigh. I couldn’t let Mikey know it but I was really eager to get back to the loft, to get back to Justin.

"Fine. We’ll go to Woody’s and have some shots." I push his back and force him out of the building. Stashing my liquor in the back of the jeep I grab my cigarettes. Mikey and I have decided to walk to Woody’s, it’s only a mile away and I know I’ll need nicotine to deal with this shit.

He is walking quickly and babbling on like a lunatic about the party. "After all I went through, to do something special, to surprise him, to make him happy. How could he humiliate me in front of everyone like that?" It’s easy. It isn’t about you. It’s about him. I could easily see it in Ben’s eyes. Michael isn’t a selfish person like I am. It’s hard for him to recognize it in others. 

His upset is turning into anger, which I actually enjoy a little more. But, the fucker is walking so fast I can’t get my cig to light, "Hey, will you slow down?" He barely glances over his shoulder and continues his diatribe. "And here I am thinking he’s so wise and so together, you know that he lives on some higher spiritual plane than the rest of us poor, dumb mortals. Boy did he have me fooled! Was I fuckin' stupid!" Ben was pretty high up on his pedestal. All that Eastern philosophy and meditation crap had Mikey believing that Ben knew more than the rest of us.

Tired of listening to the pity party already, "Hey, are you finished?" He bites back, "Why? Are you in a hurry to pick someone up?"

"No I’m just tired of hearing you play variations on the theme of poor little Mikey." My remark, while caustic, is honest.

Not at all amused by my attempt to shut him up, "Oh, I’m so sorry I bore you."

"Then try another song." I’m no longer feeling like being Mikey’s shoulder to cry on. Plus, it’s fucking freezing out here.

"What did I do? Besides throw him a goddamned party?"

I contemplate telling Mikey how I really feel. What I know to be true. That I understand why Ben reacted the way he did. But the truth generally hurts coming from me, so I refrain and offer the best advice I know how, "Never mind forget it. Go to Woody’s, get drunk, throw up, pass out, you’ll feel much better in the morning."

Michael is completely unsatisfied with my cop out answer, "No, tell me!"

Well, if he insists, "You want too much, you expect too much. And then when you’re hero disappoints you, you’re poor little heart gets crushed." As I hear myself say the words I understand exactly why I know where Ben is coming from, that used to be me. I was the hero falling from grace, screwing Mikey over. Somehow it is a relief to no longer be the disappointment.


	2. Variations II

Anger flashes in his eyes, he wants to hurt someone and because the truth came from me I’m an easy target, "What’s the alternative? To expect nothing…to want nothing like you?" I stop and suck in a deep breath. I really have nothing to say to that. It is true. I expect very little from the few people that are in my life. I know that everyone will disappoint you in one way or another. Why give them the chance? 

I walk silently behind Michael to the front door of Woody’s and then take a chance on speaking, "This is where I get off Mikey. I’m going home." He looks back at me with his big hurt eyes, most of the anger toward me having diminished. I can tell he is not surprised by the news of my departure. He nods and then swings open the heavy mahogany door, escaping inside to find solace in a friend who will listen, Tequila. I jog back to the jeep. To keep warm, I tell myself. But, really I know that I just want to see Justin. It’s getting late, only a few more hours of his birthday. Nothing can top this afternoon’s little surprise but I think we have a couple more mind-blowing fucks left in us. My ass hits the seat in the jeep and I realize just how cold I must have been, it stings. I shift the gears and race through downtown Pittsburgh toward the loft. As I pull into my spot in front of our building I can see the corner windows from where I sit. It’s dark. No lights. That’s strange.

The elevator screeches to halt on the top floor and I extract myself from behind the gate just like I have a million times before. I slide open the heavy steel door to our home to find it empty. I wonder where Justin is. He didn’t seem angry or anything when he left Ben’s with Mel and Linds. He was the one who wanted me to console Michael. He can’t be angry about it now, can he?

I resolve that he’s likely just gone for something to eat with the girls. He’ll probably be home soon actually. I stick the champagne in the fridge and the wine on the counter. As I watch the base of the dark bottle slide across the shiny metal surface, an idea starts to form in my mind. I do have a few more hours to make Justin’s birthday a little more like he wanted. I may not do flowers and singing telegrams, but I got him one hell of a hot trick and I’ll end this day on a romantic note. I’ll surprise the shit out of him.

Grabbing a box of white candles from the closet that I’m fairly sure are left over from Michael’s party last year, I start to arrange them around the bed. I set them out rather haphazardly, just making sure they aren’t too close to anything flammable. I light each one, there’s a least a dozen. I turn off the blue lights behind the bed, standard fare around here, and it shifts the color in the room from cool to warm. It’s a nice change actually.

I amble around for a moment, as if searching for something else to do. I really have nothing here. Just myself, a bottle of champagne, some lit candles. That’s enough, isn’t it? Is this what he wants? Fuck me if this isn’t enough. He’s lucky I snagged the bottle of Moet and dragged out the candles. It’s just a fucking birthday after all.

I pour myself a glass of Jim and slip into my blue robe. I want to wait in a primed position on the bed, but who knows how long he might be. I wander around the loft a little bit, noting how empty it seems without him here. He’s always making noise. He doesn’t even mean to, but life is louder with him in it. I don’t so much mind the amplified volume of things. Somehow the stillness, the quiet, seems eerie to me now. 

In order to block out the white noise ringing in my ears I waltz over to my CD player to liven things up. I see Ethan’s CD case is still sitting on top where Justin left it this afternoon. Once he got a load of my gift he forgot all about that violin playing child prodigy. I pick the jewel case up in my hand and carefully observe the photograph of Ethan on the front and his name half cocked in rock star fashion across the left side of it. Ethan Gold, well aren’t we quite the stud. He really is pretty fucking cute. I’d do him. Maybe I can have Justin lure him back to our place one day soon. Might be a nice after-school snack.

I hit 'play' on the stereo and listen intently as Ethan’s talent fills the room. Justin’s right, he is amazing. I’m not one for classical music. If I can’t fuck to the rhythm it is hardly worth my time. But I can see where the sweet whine of strings would be alluring. It’s quite romantic, that must have been why Justin was enthralled. 

Setting the CD case back down I cross the loft, turning off most of the lights as I go. I stop in the kitchen to uncork the champagne. I send the cork flying and watch the bubbles spill out over the opening. I slip my lips around the top of the bottle and begin to take in the sweet yellowish liquid. I wait until the foam has stopped rising and then head off for the bedroom. Justin should be here soon enough, or at least I hope he will be.

Not ten minutes pass when I hear the elevator begin to make its ascent. I eagerly wait for the grate to shift and his keys to jingle. These comforting sounds that I know so well, that I associate with his homecoming, leave my stomach wrenched in anticipation tonight. Finally, after what seems like agonizing minutes, the door slides open and I hear him cautiously come in. Surely he’s already recognized the music from Ethan’s CD on and seen that the lights are all out. I know he’ll be rounding the corner and up the steps in just a few moments.

"Brian?" I hear him call my name with such hesitance and wonder in his voice that it almost makes me chuckle. I remain calm and subdued though, "Where were you?" I answer back at him.

"I took a walk. Why are you home? I thought you’d be out with Michael." A walk eh? That’s interesting. It’s cold out for a walk; I should know I had to chase Michael for a mile on this bitterly cold evening. I shake the overanalyzing of his outing out of my head immediately and reply, "Well I’m not. Come in here." I couldn’t really care less where he was. I just want him in here with me, now.

I can hear his feet start to take him across the wood floor. He moves near and I can feel my eyes open wider and my gut tighten a bit. When his eyes land on me and then dart from the champagne to the candles and back to me, I smile slightly. His look is one of shock and a little suspicion and appreciation and love.

I lift my hand and motion to him in a come-hither fashion. He bites his lip and starts to strategically move toward me, losing his clothing with every step. Naked and quivering a little he kneels on the bed in front of me. I sit up to level myself with him. I tip the bottle of champagne back and take a long swallow if it. I tell him it’s good as some slides down my chin. Justin immediately lurches over and runs his warm, wet tongue up my chin and onto my lips. Ending in a deep, sweet kiss. For a moment I am lost in that kiss and then I remember a detail that will help sober the moment, "Stole it from Ben’s party. I don’t think Mikey will be needing it." His eyes flash a moment of disappointment. I suppose I didn’t need to tell him I’d swiped the bottle from the party, but there’s no reason to let him believe I went out and bought it just for him. Is there?


	3. Variations II

I hand him the bottle, as if to make amends. He accepts and smiles a little. Then he takes some long gulps from the bottle and I watch as the bubbles go straight to his brain. We pass the bottle back and forth and pour it into each other’s mouths. We kiss and touch and caress and unwind. We breathe and whimper and roll and rock together. I have to say, this alcohol-included foreplay is nicer than I’d even anticipated. I start to stroke Justin’s cock as my tongue fills his mouth and my lips press his so hard I know it must hurt. The moans coming from him aren’t going anywhere but into me, and I’ll take them, all of them. Then I start to trail my tongue down his body. I play on his neck, his collarbone, his nipples, his navel and then his crotch. But, just before I get to the sweet spot he sits up and pushes me off of him. Assuming he wants to play I roll over and wait for him to smother me but, instead my eyes meet his and the look he’s giving me is one of disdain, not of lust.

"Why should I take this and relish it and love you for having fucking stolen a bottle of champagne and lit some fucking candles?" The words hit me so hard because I wasn’t prepared for them, at all. To be fooling around one second and berated for lack of romantic fortitude the next was shifting gears too quickly for me. I watch his eyebrows furrow as the disappointment in me takes over his whole body. My immediate reaction is to hurt him back, "Oh, I’m sorry, the pomp and circumstance were going to come after the sex. I thought we’d fly to Paris later for your star-studded surprise party."

Instead of folding, like I hoped he would, he continues, "A hustler, you got me a fucking hustler. And now you are trying to make up for that grave error in judgment with this half-assed attempt at romance. Like you even know what it is." The entire day flashes through my mind. The roller coaster of emotion I’ve been on over this kid’s birthday.

I went from adamantly denying the day existed to buying him what I thought to be a fucking fabulous gift to candles and champagne. What the fuck else does he want from me? What an ungrateful twat. This teaches me to give a shit.

Now I’m just pissed, "Fuck you. He was hot, and you weren’t balking while you were fucking his brains out. I’m sorry if it wasn’t up to your birthday standards. I don’t know why I even tried." I get up off the bed; I want to be away from Justin right now. I grab the champagne from the nightstand, I am the one who stole it after all, and start to walk away from him. I kick the bottle back and open my throat open taking the rest of the celebratory liquor into me. Some of it begins to splash down my neck and I laugh at the idiocy of the situation. Justin does not look amused.

"God Brian, I just need for you to give a shit. To tell me you give a shit. I don’t understand why you don’t get that. I didn’t need some fucking stranger in my bed on my birthday. All I wanted was you. All I wanted was for you to wish me a Happy Birthday. It’s all I fucking needed. Don’t you get that? Don’t you understand me by now?"

It isn’t about me wishing him a Happy Birthday. He needs to hear that I love him, and that’s the one thing I can’t give him. I know that and he knows that and every other fucking person on this planet knows that. Why can’t we just let it be? Why can’t he be satisfied with who I am? Why can’t he be happy with what I give him, how I show him what he means to me? They’re just words. No one ever really means them. They’ll only ending up hurting him.

Because I can’t begin to tell him the truth I have to be an asshole, "Obviously I don’t understand you Justin, and you don’t understand me. Let’s just fucking forget it all, shall we?" My words come much harsher than I intend but I’m not taking any of it back now. Plus, he’s asking too much of me. Expecting too much. He and Michael should start a club of boyfriend worshippers where they can work out their fallen hero issues together.

I’m headed for he kitchen but he’s following, "Fuck you Brian. You still don’t hear what I’m saying. All I’m trying to do is tell you what I want. What I need from you is very little. And you can’t even give me that." He has no idea how much he needs from me. How much he takes from me. What it takes for me to live this life, to come home to him each night. It’s enriching in so many ways, but it’d disheartening in so many others. My daily struggles are something he could never begin to comprehend.

I sneer at him for not understanding me. "What, all you wanted was for me to tell you was Happy Birthday? Well Happy fucking Birthday Sunshine. May all your dreams come true." I don’t mean to push him away so forcefully with my words. But the way I’ve dealt with conflict all my life is to add fuel to the fire. I never back down, never apologize, never throw in my hat. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.

Suddenly the anger melts off his face and it is replaced by a look of mourning. He starts to walk away and I raise my hand to touch his back as he goes. But I don’t, I just leave it hanging there in the air, representing the apology I won’t make, the words I won’t take back, the heart I won’t mend, the damage I won’t fix.

I walk up the steps and past the bed where he’s tucked himself in tightly. I enter the bathroom and stand in front of the vast mirror and peer back at myself. In my own eyes I see love and hate and life and death and right and wrong and I can’t distinguish any of it. It all dwells inside of me; in places so deep I can’t imagine ever finding them. They swirl around and get mixed up and generally all of that emotion in me comes out in dry wit and biting sarcasm. I rarely say anything I mean, or rather anything that is meaningful.

I slide in bed next to him and get a chill from the distance between us. I’m used to his warm body up close to mine, I like it when he drapes his arms over me as we sleep. Back-to-back we lay together, probably each thinking about how the fuck we ended up here. I can only imagine the thousands of thoughts running through his mind at this moment. As if to transfer thoughts to him telepathically, I will him to get up and walk away. Leave me Justin, save yourself the heartache that will come. If you do it now it will hurt less. I can’t believe I’m thinking these things. But, I know if he severs the tie it will be easier for me. He can walk away and live his life and leave me behind. He needs more than I can give and that’s the end of it.

My thoughts are interrupted by Ethan’s sickly sweet sap filling the loft again. I realize the auto timer on the CD player must have kicked on. It does that sometimes. Justin and I both roll toward each other as the music dances on the air between us. He stares at me, as if to ask, did you orchestrate this moment? Are you trying to apologize? And with my eyes I want to tell him, Yes, yes I did. I’m so sorry for everything. Please forgive me. But my stare remains empty and I force myself not to reach out and hold him and tell him everything is going to be all right. Because it probably isn’t.


End file.
